Beer By the Year
Forget 'born-on dates.' Vintage suds are becoming a popular pour at fine dining joints. But is any bottle of beer really worth $23? We swallowed hard and took the plunge.
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I've always regarded beer as a pretty democratic drink. It's cheap, appealing and widely available. Its biggest fans tend to be the sort of simple, straight-shooting lugs who marry implausibly tolerant women and make a lovable mess of things every half hour or so: think Homer Simpson or Norm from "Cheers" or George W. Bush. It is acceptable in certain circles to chug it, "shotgun" it or siphon it into oneself through a long funnel; the same cannot be said, sadly, for wine or piña coladas. It is utterly at home in the restaurant, the bar, the stadium, the fraternity house and the 7-Eleven parking lot. It is an equal-opportunity inebriator. It is the U.S.A. of alcohol.
Which is why it was strange to find myself at Gramercy Tavern in New York on a recent evening ordering an 11-ounce bottle of beer—for $23. But, then again, Thomas Hardy's Ale is no ordinary brewski. Especially when it's been sitting in the same bottle since 1992.
In the age of "born on" dates, a 15-year-old ale will likely strike most boozers as, well, past its prime. But vintage beer is not most booze. For centuries, European enthusiasts have quietly "laid down" bottles of full-bodied, alcohol-rich stouts, barley wines, porters, strong ales and ciders to mature in the cool of their cellars. The practice spread to the States during the craft-brewing boom of the 1980s and '90s, and over the last decade a handful of brewpubs—including the Map Room in Chicago, the Brickskeller in Washington, Father's Office in Santa Monica and the Toronado in San Francisco—have added aged beers to their rosters. (Sierra Nevada, Stone, Laguinitas and Anchor all produce age-worthy bottles, and Anheuser-Busch recently joined the ranks with a high-alcohol, vintage-dated beer called Brew Masters' Private Reserve.)
Still, only aficionados have paid much attention—which is where Gramercy Tavern comes in. A few months ago, the three-star Manhattan restaurant (the "most popular" in New York, according to the Zagat Survey) gave beer-by-the-year its big-league, fine-dining debut with a select 25-bottle list of vintage suds from Europe, Japan and North America. The response, says assistant beverage director Kevin Garry, has been "amazing"—and it could mean more mainstream acceptance to come. "Based on how our guests have reacted, I can totally see vintage beer catching on at other places," says Garry, who pairs his bottles with cheeses and desserts. "I'd love to see it become the next cool thing in the fine-dining world."
For that to happen, vintage will have to prove its value. As a devoted (but novice) drinker who'd never heard of aging before Gramercy Tavern announced its menu, my first thought was "bottoms up." But then I remembered: this is beer we're talking about. You know, the stuff shirtless football fans drink from a helmet. Sure, boosters might do well to take a page from wine's playbook: according to the latest figures from the National Institutes of Health, alcohol consumption from beer (per capita) is down 6 percent since 1992, while "classier" vino is up 17 percent. But all hoity-toity aspirations aside, is any bottle of brew—particularly one that predates Dakota Fanning—really worth $23? Should we be encouraging these people?
Experts say yes—in theory. Sequestered for a year or more in a dark cellar at 40 to 55 degrees, a substantial beer—maybe yeasty, maybe malty and typically high on hops and/or alcohol (both preservatives)—will evolve, as it oxidizes, from brash to refined. The twang of alcohol will mellow. Most bitterness will fade. The malt and sugars will sweeten, and any yeast will stir up new flavors as it ferments. The result: a smooth, complex, aromatic beverage that amplifies the earthy, fruity accents of the original brew but still tastes unmistakably like beer. Sounds swell, right? Not necessarily. Brewers, unlike vintners, release their beverages when they're ready to drink, and aging is an inexact science. Given time, some bottles soar; others sour. With vintage beer, you always run the risk of liking the final draft less than the first.
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